Her Name Was Samantha
by GravityDefier7827
Summary: Man of Steel universe. How would a girl Clark has grown up with affect his reality as Superman? How much does she change him? How does his change her? Clark/OC
1. Introductions

_Okay, so I _really _tried not to write something about Man of Steel, but I couldn't not do it. I saw the movie a few days ago and loved it. So, this was the product of my much too imaginative brain. Hopefully I'll be able to get to my other stories soon!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OCs._

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Her name was Samantha.

Or really, Sam, because when his mom tried to call her Samantha she stopped dead in her tracks, stared straight into the older woman's eyes, and said in a much-too-mature voice, "My name is Sam."

Only letting her shock show mildly, Martha Kent gave the tiny girl a wide smile and apologized. "My mistake, Sam." She began to walk from the hallway to the kitchen, "Now, would you two like some lemonade or iced tea? I think we have some cookies around here some – Clark!" Martha beckoned her son over from where he was standing next to the table. "Now come on, don't be shy. This here's Amanda Hoffman and her daughter Sam."

Clark, still only 11 years old, went to his mother's side and glued himself to it, only offering the two new strangers in his home a small smile before looking up and asking, "Where's Dad?"

His mother's eyes furrowed and she nudged her son away from her, "Don't be rude, Clark. Say hi."

With his head down and gaze to the floor, Clark quietly said, "Hi." He didn't see his mother mouth _Sorry _over his head to the other woman.

"Hi, Clark, I'm Amanda," the woman – Amanda – said. He heard two quiet footsteps and a muffled _Hmph _as, he assumed, the small girl was pushed forward to introduce herself, even though he really wished she wouldn't.

"I'm Sam," the girl said. Like earlier, she sounded old, at least much older than she looked, Clark finalized as he silently peeked up from his spot on the floor. She had pale skin, green eyes and light brown hair, but what was most significant was her height. His mom had told him a few weeks ago that he was 5'3'', and so he assumed that she was, at most, 4'6''. Almost all of the girls in his grade were his height, maybe a little bit shorter. He quickly hoped that she wouldn't be his age, and if she was, she'd better have a tough skin.

"Tell Clark how old you are," Sam's mother told her.

With her chin poked out, she confidently said, "I'm 11 years old and will be joining the 6th grade next week."

"Well, now," Martha started smiling, "that's Clark's grade. Maybe you two'll have the same teacher."

Amanda patted her daughter's back lightly, "That would be nice, now wouldn't it, Sam?"

The small girl shrugged, "I guess."

Placing her hands on her son's shoulder's, Martha asked, "Clark, why don't you take Sam out to the swing and show her around a bit? You can tell her about school." After a moment when he didn't respond or move, she pushed him forward towards the door. "Go on, now. Sam, you can just follow him. He _should _know where he's going." Amanda smiled at Martha as she urged her daughter to follow the boy.

"Iced tea or lemonade?" Clark heard his mother ask as he opened the door.

"Lemonade's fine," Amanda responded as she walked into the kitchen.

Clark stopped listening to the two women after he was outside, he never liked listening to mom's talk together, anyways; they really liked to gossip.

The door slammed shut behind him, and that's when he remembered the girl and how his mom wanted him to show her around. Well, that was the house and this was the yard, it's not that hard to learn. Besides, she seemed smart enough to understand what was what and left from right. But, he was sure that his mom would some one find out how he was treating Sam, she had a _very _watchful eye, so he might as well be nice to her.

He made a left arc in the yard and ended up at his swing, one of the only places where he felt truly alone. With the wind being prominently heard in his extra sensitive ears, he was able to forget the world and all its problems. Here, he was Clark.

The girl had followed him, and with a small sigh he turned around. She was looking at him, hands by her side and eyes curious, like she wanted to ask him something but couldn't. It was he who spoke first though. "Do you want to swing?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, I don't like heights."

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he shrugged his shoulders and sat down himself, nonchalantly

swinging his legs as he stared up at the sky. Whenever he did this, he lost track of time, like he did every evening. Only this time, there was some one watching him.

"What does your dad do?" she asked randomly after a moment's silence.

"He works on cars," Clark answered immediately, proud of what his father did.

Her mouth formed a small _o _as she thought, her eyes drawing blank. She didn't answer for a minute, but then she said, "My mom says that my dad works with other grown ups and that I wouldn't understand, but I don't think that's fair. Your dad works with other grown ups, right?"

Clark nodded, but didn't speak.

"I don't know. She always makes me go to bed early though, so I don't see him a lot. What time do you have to go to bed?"

His fingers clenched in annoyance. He didn't talk that much in general, especially not to people he just met, though. And there she was, going off on the weirdest things. Maybe Pete and the others wouldn't get her because she talked too much.

"I don't know, whenever she tells me to," he answered as his eyes focused on a very tall cornstalk.

"Do you hate me?"

He looked back at her, startled that she'd think that. Just because he wasn't talking didn't mean he hated her...did it? No, of course not. She just wasn't used to him. But she seemed pretty sure of herself, with her hands on her hips and an impatient look.

"No. I just...I, uh, guess I don't talk...a lot," he told her, getting quieter with each word.

"Hmm," she said, "that's weird, but I guess it's okay. Do you like anything?"

He thought for a moment, not exactly sure how to answer her. "I like...swinging."

Rolling her eyes, she asked, "Anything _besides _swinging?"

Shrugging, Clark told her, "Yeah, I don't know, though."

She sigh loudly. "You're not very fun."

After shrugging again for what felt like the hundredth time, he said, "That's okay."

Sighing, again, she asked, "Do you want to play a game, then? And be _fun_?"

Clark closed his eyes slowly, and then opened them. "Sure."

Sam gave him a huge smile, happy that she accepted his offer. Running forward and grabbing his hand, she startled him; not because of her speed, but by the fact that she actually touched him. He could count the number of times some one his age had touched him – out of fun, as she called it – on one hand.

Feeling his reluctance, she asked, "Come on, it'll be fun," he was still cautious, "Trust me."

He was still hesitant, but the sparkle in her eyes told him that he should trust her. And, just maybe, he'd have fun. So, Clark nodded at her, and he was responded with another huge smile, showing her missing teeth. After the small pause it took to smile at him, she took off racing, towing him behind her, towards the place where she wanted to go.

This wasn't exactly him showing her around, but it would work. Besides, he knew that his mother would see them running together past the kitchen window, so he might get one of those cookies she was talking about earlier.

Softly smiling to himself, he easily kept pace with the tiny girl in front of him, okay with following for once.

* * *

_Thoughts? I have nothing against Lois and Clark together, but I wanted to see how this would work out. Review please!_

_GD_


	2. Colder Weather

_Thank you for all the feedback, I really appreciate it. And so, without further introduction, chapter two._

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It was Sunday evening when the phone rang. From Sam's room, she heard the shrill noise of the ring coming from the box on the wall, and moments later her mother's voice sounded. Closing the book she was reading – _The Grapes of Wrath _– she listened intently to the conversation, because if some one was willing enough to call their house, something was definitely interesting.

"Hello?" her mother's smooth voice answered.

There was only a moment's pause before she spoke again. "Martha, Martha, calm down! Listen to me – Martha, breathe. It's okay, just – calm down, calm down, okay?"

Sam's heart clenched in fear. Something was wrong, very wrong if one of the strongest people she knew was breaking down over the phone. Was it Clark? Was he okay? In the back of her mind, though, she knew it wasn't Clark. In the six years she's known him he's never even had a scratch on his body. So, if not Clark, what was it? The storm hadn't been strong enough to do any damage to any place on the outskirts of Smallville, but a few miles north of them there had been a tornado spotted. But...no.

Jumping off the bed, she raced towards her mother in the kitchen, only stopping when the older woman held up her hand in a motion to stay there.

"Martha," she continued, "calm down, alright. We're coming over. Stay calm and breathe, okay? Hold on."

Slamming the phone back into the jack, her mother didn't even look at her as she sprung into action. "Get your shoes on and get in the car. No questions."

Silently, she obeyed and ran to grab her pair of tennis shoes. Not even bothering to put them on just, yet, she raced to their old Suburban and hopped into the passenger side, eagerly awaiting her mother. Moments later, she too was running out to the car, quickly jumping in and starting the engine as her daughter hastily tied the laces to her shoes.

Turning out of the driveway, their car shot forward as they made their way to the Kent's, only a few miles down the road. Heart still racing, Sam fidgeted in her seat, not at all liking the silence. Her mother liked to talk, a lot. The only times when she stayed quiet was when her father was home or when something wasn't right, and so obviously something was wrong.

Quietly, she asked, "What's going on?"

Almost immediately after, her mother snapped, "Don't ask questions to either of them. Something happened to John, that's all I got out of it."

Sam turned her head to watch the fields go flying past, even more nerved at her mother's outburst. Lifting her hand to her face, she nervously bit her nails as they neared the Kent's house. Wishing that they'd never reach the house so that she wouldn't have to hear bad news, she willed time to move faster so that she could understand what was going on as soon as possible. She silently cursed her mind for being to conflicting.

The drive that normally took 6 minutes now took 2 and a half. Slamming the brakes in front of the house, both of them quickly unbuckled and exited the car. Jogging up the steps, her mother reminded her, "Remember what I said. Let me ask."

Sam only nodded as her mother let the two of them into the house, which was quiet, as normal. This time, though, instead of the peaceful solitude that greeted her whenever she visited, there was a grim and devastating feel to the house. She didn't like it.

"Martha?" her mother called out softly, the tone completely opposite from a minute ago.

"Amanda." Martha emerged from the kitchen, eyes raw and a tear stained, red face. She said her mother's name as a relieved sob, and didn't hesitate to launch herself into the other woman's arms.

Sam didn't really know the extent of the two's relationship, but it must have been very close for Martha to be sobbing in her arms. That, or, the event that happened was extremely horrifying.

Which brought her back to the reason why they were here in the first place.

Through the loud breaths, hiccups, and wails that escaped from Martha Kent, words were able to be sounded out. "...gone...the sto...rm...back...for Lu...cy...did...nt...make it...back..." Her mumbling continued to get louder and more hysterical as her story unfolded, and Sam immediately wished for the nervous silence that she had walked into, not this. It was apparent what had happened, that was clear, but she wished that the sobbing woman would stop so that it didn't have to be true.

Jonathan Kent had been some one who she respected from afar. Never one to go up and talk to him unless he initiated conversation first, she silently gave him her trust and devotion. She'd never forget, though, how Clark spoke of him. It was Dad-this and Dad-that almost everyday up until they reached the age of 14. After that, there were still moments when Clark got his far off look when he talked about his father, but the way he talked about him matured. It was the respectful and adult relationship that a father and son had when they were both well into life; not the type of relationship that the two of them should have had when Clark was still a teenager.

But some how it worked for them, and that's why the grief of Mr. Kent's death didn't sink it. It was the fear of Clark that had her heart clenched. Devastated wouldn't even begin to cover what he must be feeling. Anger, fury, alone, lost, scared, confused, broken...not something that some one who's never had a bruise on them shouldn't be feeling.

Her mother must have been thinking the same thing she was, even though most of her thoughts should have been on the woman in her arms, because she mouthed the words _Find Clark _to her above Martha's shaking head. Nodding quickly, she turned around nervously and set off to find the person she wasn't sure she even wanted to find, never thinking that maybe he didn't want to be found.

She didn't even know where to begin. His room? Well, it was worth a shot. Climbing the old stairs, she peeked into his small room and found – no Clark. Now anxious, she went through the whole upstairs, but there was no teenage boy to be found. At the end of the hallway, she looked out of the window and down to the old swing hanging on a tree branch, the exact swing where their 11 year old selves had first started their friendship. He wasn't there, though.

From the corner of her eye, though, she spotted movement. There was a flash of something, so fast she couldn't even tell the color, out in the old barn. Specifically, Mr. Kent's old barn.

Now it made sense.

Her mind was set, so focused on where she was going, and what she could possibly find, that it felt like only seconds before she was in front of the barn, which held Mr. Kent's workshop. Not bothering to deal with second thoughts of the situation, she pried the slightly ajar door open further.

She wasn't exactly surprised at what she saw, but it was still a shock. Things were scattered everywhere – old tools, parts, screws, bales of hay, wood, and everything else in between. And then there was Clark. Red face, labored breathing, set jaw, and hair damp from sweat. To a bystander, it would have looked like he was tearing down the building, which, in reality, he was. But the reason why he was doing this was unknown to a stranger.

She could tell from the barn doors that his eyes were probably black from the rage he had in them. She'd never seen him look so terrifying. There had been a handful of instances where he'd lost his temper in front of her, but still, nothing compared to what he looked like in front of her.

Stepping forward slowly, she cautiously called out to him, "Clark?"

His fists clenched at his sides when she said his name. In a stone voice, he told her, "Go away, Sam."

Her stubbornness was definitely _not _going to help this situation. "Clark, please," she held up her hands, a sign for peace, "come outside."  
She was actually surprising herself by the way she was handling this situation. She'd never really had the time, or motivation, to think about how she could comfort some one or be a supportive friend. The only person she could really call a friend was standing in front of her now, and he had never needed comforting from her. His parents, yes. But her? Yes, she knew that there was something different about him, but giving him her silent support and acceptance was enough for him, for both of them.

He closed his eyes and breathed loudly through his nose, angered even further by her words. "Sam, you need to leave. Now."

She wasn't phased. He wouldn't hurt her. He's never harmed her, or anyone else for that matter, in the years that she's known him. Stepping even closer to him, she said, "No, Clark. You have to stop this. Don't ruin the things you have left of –

His glare stopped her dead in her tracks, and when she realized her mistake, she understood why he looked the way he did. God, she was an idiot. Who reminds some one of their father's death, right after it happened? This was the time to be supporting and soothing a person, not reminding them of how the everyday things of their father were now only memories. Who reminds some one who's grieving that they'll never see some one again? Well, apparently she does.

Sam stopped and stared at him, as he did to her. _Very _slowly, he growled at her, "Don't say that." The words were slow and threatening.

She licked her lips. "I'm – I'm sorry. Can you just...please come outside. You shouldn't be here."

Clark looked around at the destroyed and scattered items around the dirt floor. "You're right," he started, "I shouldn't be here. This was his place. But that obviously doesn't matter anymore." She couldn't help but notice how the anger had all but disappeared by the time he was done talking.

This was her chance. "It's gonna be okay. Just...let's get out of here."

He shook his head at her, then turned around. Now _this _was the Clark she was used to. When things happened that he couldn't do anything about, he turned away. There was one time in 9th grade when their classmate, Abby, had a severe asthma attack. First responders came and forced everyone in the room out into the hall, and because Clark couldn't do anything, he turned and walked away. She didn't go after him, but she assumed that he needed to distance himself from whatever he was thinking about.

So here he was, trying to distance himself, but there was no where to go. He was trapped in the memory of his father, and she could tell from his stance that he was trying to think if that was a good or bad thing; she'd say it was a bad thing.

Her filter was dead today, because she didn't think when she strode forward, reached up, grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and pulled his head into her neck. He immediately tensed, but she kept her hold on him steady and unbending. With one hand in his hair and the other on his back, she held him, praying that he'd respond to her sometime, because she was really starting to worry that she had just done something wrong.

She had only hugged him twice before. Once at confirmation, and the other after her mother was taken to the hospital. Both were quick and a little awkward, but it felt nice all the same. This, though, was something completely different. She knew that it must have been an awkward position, especially considering that there was over a foot height difference between them. It was also awkward in the fact that neither of them had probably touched another person their age like this.

Sam forced herself to stop thinking, because right now it was really making her have doubts, and she didn't need those right now. She needed to focus on wishing that Clark would show _some _sign that her attempt at comfort was for the better.

And after long moments of hesitation, she – thank God – felt his arms wrap slowly around her waist, lose around her, but still enough to know that he was giving into her. There was dampness against her neck, and she wasn't sure if it was due to the sweat on his face or the tears. It really didn't matter, though. He was here, he was safe. He wasn't okay, but he would be, he had to be.

And to try to make things okay, she continued to rock the two of them softly in the trashed building, trying to block him out of the memories that surrounded him in his father's barn.

* * *

_Thoughts?_


	3. Splits

On May 12, 2003, the senior class of Smallville High School, made up of 37 students, graduated. The ceremony, which took place in the small courtyard at the school, was quick and to the point, only taking an hour before the students were throwing their caps into the air.

As the black, required hats rained down around her, Sam waited for the shock of graduating to hit her, or at least the feeling of freedom to form. But, no. As she looked around at the ecstatic faces of her classmates, all she could manage to do is give a small smile to those who came up and congratulated her. She didn't feel any different; what she was feeling right now was the same as yesterday and the day before, the only difference was that she was no longer attached to the public schooling system.

She had just stood back up from grabbing one of the caps from the ground, a keepsake that her mother wanted, when that same person ran up and threw her arms around her. Sam easily fit in her mother's arms, and even though she was being squeezed quite profoundly, she managed a true smile from the older woman's excitement.

Moving her hands to her daughter's shoulders, Amanda looked at her, crying. "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart."

Sam blushed and looked at the ground, still not quite comfortable with tears. "Thanks, Mom."

"Oh, honey," her mother hugged her again. "You're all grown up now."

She laughed lightly. "I wouldn't say that just yet."

"If I didn't know you, Amanda, I would think that you're trying to suffocate the girl."

Her mother pulled away from her, then turned to glare amusingly at Martha Kent, who was smiling widely at them. "I'm sure you were doing the exact same thing to your boy, the only difference being that he would have survived your attack a bit longer."

"I guess you're right. Now, move on over so I can congratulate this young woman," Mrs. Kent said as she moved to hug Sam. As thin arms wrapped around her, she lightly returned the pressure back to the woman she'd known for the past six years.

"Congratulations, Sam," she whispered in her ear.

As the two of them let go, Sam smiled and said, "Thank you, Mrs. Kent."

Shaking her head, the woman in front of her asked, "Now, how many times have I told you to call me Martha? Mrs. Kent makes me feel too old."

Blushing again, Sam looked at her feet and apologized. "Sorry, ma'am."

Mrs. Kent – Martha – only smiled again at her. "You're too sweet." Moving to dig something out of the bag strapped around her shoulder, she told her, "You go up next to Clark, I need a picture of you two."

She desperately willed the blush to go away as she silently made her way towards the tall man in front of her, taking extra time to make sure she didn't trip on her feet, something that had happened multiple times.

Ever since the day in the barn, almost a year ago, something had changed. Maybe it was the way he treated her, or maybe, though she hated to admit it, the way she looked at him changed. A part of her brain – way in the back – new that her feelings had changed on the day of Jonathan Kent's death. It was the way he had leaned on her, both physically and emotionally, that made her realize how much she, well, _liked _him. Admired him. Pitied him. Respected him.

Nothing had happened between them, of course not. They were two practically socially awkward teens who had never had _any_ type of relationship, friendship or more, with some one of the opposite gender and the same age, besides each other. If anything, though, he began to talk more, something that she had been wishing for since the day she met him.

But as he looked down at her, it was she who was quiet, something that she speculated he had been wishing for since they had met, jokingly, hopefully. Blue clashed with green as he asked, "Feel any different?"

She shook her head. "The same as I did an hour ago. What about you?"

Clark shrugged and looked up at the sky, a habit he had possessed since a child. "I don't know. I just feel...ready."

"For what?" she asked, slightly nerved at his confession.

He looked back down at her, honesty and sincerity written on his face. "I don't know."

Sam didn't get to respond even if she wanted to, because Mrs. Kent had appeared back in front of them, camera in hand. "Okay, you two, let's get some photos."

Silently, the two teenagers fumbled as they wrapped an arm around each other, his large hand closing around her shoulder as her's went to his waist. Smiling at the camera, Mrs. Kent snapped multiple photos before lowering the device. "Got 'em. Now," she turned to Sam's mother, "what do you say we leave our kids to being kids and go get something to drink?"

Walking up to Mrs. Kent, her mother said, "I'd say you read my mind." Turning to herself and Clark, she told them, "Find us when you're ready to leave. Go and have some fun with your friends."

As the two women walked away, Sam sarcastically thought to herself _What friends?_ The only true friend she could say she had was the giant standing next to her. But, she'd rather take one friend that she could trust rather than ten that she couldn't, and she reckoned that Clark felt the same.

Looking up to the 6'3'' man beside her, she said, "I knew that they'd leave to go talk eachother's heads off, I just didn't expect it to happen so soon."

He laughed lightly at her comment. "Doesn't surprise me. Mom's been dying to vent a little, and I'm not exactly the most ideal person for her to tell."

"I don't know," standing on her tiptoes, she reached up to move his hair onto his forehead. "You might just be able to pass for a girl. If only we could do something about that face..."

She could handle this, the pointless banter that had grown more common in their friendship. It was light, it was carefree, it was...Clark and Sam. She didn't like dealing with the heavy stuff, it was sad and degrading. But sometimes it was also inevitable.

A few months ago was when Sam began to get the feeling that Clark was hiding something. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that he was, well, different (sometimes, children don't look like their parents, right?) The feeling came from Clark spending a majority of his afternoons in the library. He was normally a very good student, never need extra help, and so going to the library was very out-of-character for him. But when she asked, he only shrugged his shoulders and gave the explanation, "Research."

Always the curious one, she had been over at Clark's house one night and had seen the book pile stacked on his desk. When he had turned away, she scanned her eyes over the covers of the novels. To say she was shocked was true, but even more so was the she was confused. They were books about Antarctica, space, medical miracles, super-humans, and aliens. Lost in her confusion, she didn't realize that Clark had been trying to get her attention. Quick to cover up for her elsewhereness, she blamed it on sleep deprivation.

Still today, though, she was lost in trying to figure out what he was doing. The Arctic? What could he possibly want there? It was the Arctic! Every book lead to too many questions, and couldn't ask a single one.

Rolling his eyes, but still laughing at her attempt of a joke, he nodded towards a bench on the far corner of the courtyard, the bench they had sat and ate their lunch at for the past four years. "Let's sit one last time."

Sam smiled and nodded, following him as he made his way through the crowd. It was a good thing she was behind him, too, because he didn't have to see her eyes shamefully water up at the thought of sitting together one last time.

That evening, Clark and Sam found themselves at the place where they had spent most of their days together, Clark's swing. Still deathly afraid of anything off the ground, Sam was sitting against the tree while Clark sat on his beloved, old swing, no longer short enough to dangle his legs.

With food in their stomachs and the beginning of a starry night above them, they sat and spoke quietly about nothing, something they had been doing for years. Like before, it was so easy just to say words that didn't really mean anything. And it was comfortable as well. She knew that nothing she said would make him judge her any differently, and the same went for him. The time to judge was seven years ago.

"What do you think about space?" he had asked while looking at the stars.

It was the first time he had asked her about something she assumed he was researching, and to be honest, her heart picked up pace. Did he want to become an astronaut? Wasn't he planning on becoming a technician, or something like that? Why space all of a sudden?

She really needed her brain to shut up.

"Well," she started, "it's big and holds an infinite amount of things."

He asked another, still not looking at her. "Do you think we're alone?"

It wasn't a hard question, nor was it personal or saddening or maddening or anything else. It was a question, but something about it made her frightened, for him. And because she was scared, she became demanding.

"What are you doing, Clark?" she asked while picking herself up from the ground.

He finally looked at her, blue eyes wide and questioning. "What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about all these questions that you shouldn't be asking." She really shouldn't be getting mad at him, but something wouldn't let her calm down.

"I didn't know that there were things I couldn't ask," Clark said lightly.

Oh, damn him for being able to stay innocent and unsuspecting. She let out a loud breath. "It's not just the questions, Clark. It's the research you've been doing, what you said about being ready today..."

"What about it?" his voice took on the edge of defensive.

"I just...I feel like your keeping secrets from me. Big ones, and I thought we were past that by now."

Everything that they had been through, his father's death, her mother's incident with her father, bullying, high school, lonesomeness...it felt like it was all slipping away, and for no reason. This secret he has been keeping for the past months felt like it was tearing her friendship with him apart.

Again, she desperately pleaded that her mind would shut up her mouth, because it seemed to be ruining quite a few things at the moment.

Clark looked nervous. And Clark was never nervous. He was strong and brave, even if he was shy, but he didn't fidget. Yet, here he was, straining his hands against his lap, his eyes staring down at them. What he was keeping must have taken him a long time to figure out.

It was a moment – though it felt like many – before he spoke again. Lifting his head to her, he said, "I'm leaving."

By the way she had been acting beforehand, Sam should have been raging at his comment. But, something about the way he said it made his words sink straight to the bottom of her heart. It was the pureness and simplistic way the words came from his mouth, making her stomach drop.

She had to swallow a few times before she could speak again. "What?" Her words were quiet and reserved.

"I'm leaving." The way he said it didn't change, but he spoke to her slowly, as if it were a math equation she couldn't understand.

"Where?" she asked again, her voice cracking.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "Wherever it is I need to."

"And what it that supposed to mean?" Sam was beginning to return to the way she had acted early, enraged at his news to her.

Clark licked his lips, trying to form the words he was trying to say. "I need to find out where I come from," he finally told her.

Instantly, she responded, "You come from Kansas, Clark," with urgency in her voice.

He shook his head slowly. "No I don't," he softly spoke. "You know that."

"I didn't." She did, deep down.

Clark stood up. "I'm different, Sam. People can't hurt me, I can lift anything you give me, I can see things others don't, I hear things others can't, I –

"Stop!" Sam exclaimed rubbing her hands over her face. "Please, just, stop."

He stepped towards her, close enough that she could feel his breath. "I'm sorry."

There were so many things she wanted to say, things she needed to say. But her brain had finally listened to what she had said early, and had shut off. She couldn't understand what he was telling her. This was Clark Kent, the boy she grew up with for the past seven years. Her best friend. He had to be from here. He wasn't an...alien. Sure, he might be able to do some of the things he had told her, but science has unexplainable things, too.

There was one thing that she was able to think about, though, and that dealt with the two most important people in his life. "Your parents..."

He slowly shook his head in front of her. "They will always be my mother and father, but not biologically."

Sam rubbed her eyes again, refusing to except was he had told her. Not knowing she'd regret it later, she asked another question. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning."

He had looked her dead in the eye when he told her the news. Looking back up at him, her heart began to race. There were so many things she was trying to think about, but not one full thought could orient itself in her mind. Leaving tomorrow, not real parents, different, leaving tomorrow, not from here, leaving tomorrow, leaving tomorrow.

"Tomorrow?" she squeaked embarrassingly.

He nodded. Swallowing, like she had done earlier, he told her, "I'm sorry." And like her earlier, too, his voice weakened.

She needed to leave. This wasn't happening, it wasn't real. She tripped up the stairs to receive her diploma and blacked out. Clark, Mrs. Kent, and her mother were all at the hospital waiting for her to wake up. Yeah, it was all a dream.

But it wasn't, she knew that.

Tears formed in her eyes as she stumbled back like he had hit her. He was quicker, though, and grabbed her arms, trapping her.

"Please, Sam," he pleaded to her, "I know it's a lot to take in, but you have to know that I didn't want to leave without telling you."

She struggled to free herself, the tears spilling over and falling on to the dirt below. "No," she whispered. "Please, let me – I need to – let go – gotta get...away."

"Sam," he said as he forced her to look at him. "I'm not going away forever, understand that, please. I'll be back. And I can call. Please –

"No!" she wildly flung her arms from side to side, desperately trying to get away from him as more water came to her eyes.

There were strangled voices, she could hear them. They were choppy and horrifying and saddening, and she couldn't make out one single word. It was only until she heard Clark comfort the muffled voices that she realized that the voices were actually her. She was pressed up against his chest, crying and fighting at the same time.

Her heart willed her to give in to his embrace, as he had done with her's a year ago, but her brain, still on overload, told her to get out of it, to run away and settle her thoughts. And it was her brain that won the battle, because as soon as she had realized she was in his arms she was out of them. Wrenching herself forcefully away from him, she stumbled backwards again, this not without him grabbing her.

He looked shocked, surprised, and disappointed at her actions, but she couldn't think about that. She needed to get out of there, to think about what he had told her like her brain told her to do.

It didn't occur to her that maybe that brain of hers was thinking illogically and stupidly.

And so, with one last glance at boy she had known for seven years, her best friend, playmate, lab partner, gym partner, her first crush whose feelings ran deep, Clark Kent, she manged, "I'm sorry," to stumble out of her mouth. And before she could do anything else, she turned and started to jog to her old Suburban.

Driving home was a blur, storming into her room was forgettable, and shoving her face in her pillow was unmemorable. She tried to block out every single thought she had, wanting nothing more than to be able to wake up. She knew she had overreacted, she knew she had made countless mistakes, and she also knew that she had hurt him, but that night it didn't compare to the gut-wrenching feeling of losing her best friend.

The tears didn't stop.

* * *

_Leave a review!_


	4. Scattered

_Chapter four! Please keep the feedback coming!_

_I'd like to bring to attention a few things. First, I am changing that age of Clark, he'll be a few years younger in this story. Please don't kill me._

_The town of Grandville, used in the show Smallville, will be used in this chapter._

_Just because I said seven years in this chapter doesn't mean he's gone for seven years. There's still three more that he'll be travelling for._

_I think that's it...anyways, enjoy!_

* * *

Five letters, three phone calls, one by accident and one that she didn't answer, and one visit. That's all she got from him in seven years. Seven _long, _dragging, and excruciating years that never seemed to end.

Four months after graduating, Sam's mother had gotten sick. Soon after, her father finally moved out, not that she was complaining, which left her as her mother's primary care-taker. So, she packed up her things from a small community college in Metropolis and moved back home. It wasn't too bad, but the waitressing job she had landed at Mike's Bar only paid so much. Living pay check to pay check was now how she lived.

The doctor's had said that her mother had breast cancer, but their words went completely over her head. Not only did she hardly understand what they were saying, but she didn't exactly want to hear what the men in white coats were saying to her. Ever since she was little, doctors had made her feel uncomfortable and nervous. The minute they were done explaining her mother's condition, she bolted out the doors and sped home, letting the wind drown out her thoughts.

That was when his first letter arrived. There was an old envelope with her name and address written on it, but nothing as to point to who had sent it. Hastily opening it, ripping the envelope as usual, she pulled out a small index card with Clark's scribble written over it.

_Sam,_

_ I'm sorry, again. I have to do this, and maybe one day you'll understand. I'm fine, but there's not too much to tell. There's still so much I have to learn. I'll be here for the next few months, if you want to write back. Stay safe in Metropolis._

_ Clark_

Dang. She really did forget that Clark was gone, for a little bit during the ride home, but this just brought it all back. Also, that he didn't know anything of what was going on in her life. Dropping out of college, her mother and father, and her new admirer Nick, her boss's son.

Not that she would have told him, there was no chance of that happening. But it would feel nice to talk to some one about how persistent the guy is. Nick, who was a few years older, was one of the many bartenders that worked at Mike's. He was handsome, with blonde hair, brown eyes, and tan skin, and in some alternate world, she would have accepted his offers in a heartbeat.

But this was the real world, and because of that she had to deny him. Way in the back of her mind, she always remember the man who began to steal her heart, but left before taking all of it or giving it back.

Shaking her head, refusing to dwell on the fact that he was gone, she stuffed the card back into its ruined envelope, then head back into the small house. Mrs. Kent had stayed at the hospital with her mother, meaning that they'd be home late, giving her the day to herself. Plopping herself down on the couch, she turned the TV on to a random channel and leaned her head back. The soft background noise coming from the machine was enough to calm her to a much needed nap. The letter was thrown on the kitchen table with the bills that needed to be paid, forgotten along with the rest of the world.

* * *

The first call she got, that she answered, wasn't even on her own phone, it was Mrs. Kent's. She was 22 now, but was anything but the wild stereotype of her age. Still living at home with her mother, who was still in the midst of her battle with cancer, she now worked the bar at Mike's, so she was the one serving that stereotype the alcohol which gave them their name.

The only thing that had really changed in her life was that she had finally given in to Nick's offers. When she was about to turn 19, they had started their relationship. It was fun. It was nice. It was distracting. But even though she was young at the time, she could tell that they'd never last. He was destined to live in the big city, while as long as her mother was still here, she was rooted to Smallville. All the same, she really did fall in love with him. He was her first everything when it came to a true relationship, but in the end it still wasn't enough. They mutually ended things three days before he left for Metropolis.

Mrs. Kent had known about her relationship with Nick, really every one in Smallville knew, but she never had really spoken to the older woman about it. She hadn't really spoken to her about anything, alone, at least, for years. And so, feeling spontaneous, Sam left for the Kent's on a Tuesday afternoon.

It was now late into the evening, and she had really forgotten how much Mrs. Kent liked to talk, which was so different than Clark. They'd eaten, laughed, frowned, and evened teared up, but the topic of Clark's absence was left unattended to.

As Mrs. Kent was talking about the gardening class she was taking in Grandville, Luke, the woman's black and white Sheppard dog, began to bark and howl at something unknown outside.

Letting it slide for a while Mrs. Kent went on with her story. After many minutes of continuous, loud barking, she got up from her chair. "I swear, that dog never shuts up. I'll be right back," she said while walking towards the front door. "Feel free to have some more cake," she called over her shoulder.

When she was gone, Sam stood up to slice herself another piece, never being one to pass up on dessert. As she was cutting through the cake, however, the phone next to her began to ring. She hesitated for a moment, not knowing if she should answer it or not. In the background, though, she could still hear Luke barking, meaning that Mrs. Kent was still looking for him.

Swallowing her doubt for picking up some one else's phone, she answered, "Hello?"

There was a pause on the other line. "Sam?"

The voice on the other end of the line was unmistakably, undoubtedly Clark Kent's. With the one word he spoke, she could tell he had changed, that something was different. He spoke with a feel of confidence, backed up by the deepness of his voice.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to drop the phone or press it as tightly as possible to her ear. Slowly and quietly, she answered, "Clark." It wasn't a question.

She could hear him let out a breath from the other end of the line. "How...how are you?"

Not realizing that she was copying him, she let out her own breath. "I'm," pause, "fine. Just visiting your mom." That's all she could think of to say? _Come on, get it together._

"And how's your mother?" This was the first time they had physically spoken in four years, and they were making small talk? She really tried to think of something smart and reasonable to say, but she couldn't find the words. And she sensed she wasn't the only able to not do that.

"Fine. She's fine. Everything's fine." She waited for a moment, and when only his breathing answered her, she asked, "How are you?"

"Fine." They really needed a new word. "Listen, Sam –

Throughout all the years that Luke had annoyed her with his barking, this was the one time she wished that he'd continue, but of course that's not what happened. Mrs. Kent must have found him, because she could hear the woman scolding the dog. She only had a minute left with the missing man on the phone.

"Clark," she stopped him. And _God _did it feel good to say his name again. "Your mom's coming back. I – I don't want to...but...can you?" She struggled with finding words to say, only rattling off nonsense to the man.

"I'll call you." He stopped for a moment. "Will you pick up?"

She knew he was referring to the instance where she ignored his call. Her mother was throwing a fit, and in the end his call was not answered. When her mother had finally fallen asleep, she had listened to his message, telling her to call him back at this number in the next few days, which she never did.

"Yes. Yes, I promise. I'm sorry, Clark. That week was just so crazy and I couldn't even think, let alone –

"Sam, Sam, stop. Calm down, it's okay. I understand," he reassured her, even though her guilt didn't fade.

"Okay. I'll talk to you soon?" The thought of talking to him again made her anxious, and her stomach suddenly felt heavy.

"Yeah, of course," he answered her. "She coming up the steps, now. Bye, Sam."

It was after he had told her about the steps that she could hear them creak. Pressing the phone closer to her ear, she whispered, "Bye." Something told her that he could still hear her.

As fast as she could, still being quiet, though, she hooked the phone back on to the receiver. Spinning around, she grabbed the knife, almost cutting herself, and roughly forced it down into the spice cake, not even looking down at it.

The door opened and closed quickly, and soon Mrs. Kent's voice rang out behind her. "I might as well get rid of that dog, but he keeps me company."

"You must have strong ears, Mrs. Kent," she replied as she served herself the large slice of cake.

That didn't go unnoticed by the older woman. Winking at Sam, she told her, "I'll give you the recipe for it later." She didn't mention that is was John and Clark's favorite as well. "Now," she said while returning to her chair, "where was I?"

* * *

It was six in the morning when Sam _finally _pulled into her driveway. After a full, hot, busy night of serving countless drinks and foods and doing whatever else Mike wanted her to do, she was able to leave work, go home, and get some sleep before visiting her mother in the hospital.

Stumbling out of the very old Suburban, it was a miracle that it still ran, she slowly made her way along the stone path that led to her deck, eyes practically closed. It wasn't until she practically ran over something on her steps that her eyes opened and her senses became alert again. Her senses must suck, though, because it wasn't her that ran over something, it was the something that ran over her. Even though she ran into it, it still sent her falling into her yard.

"Sam? Sam, are you okay?"

It was Clark, he was here. He was standing right. In. Front. Of. Her. And. He. Was. _Here._ With wide, tired eyes, she looked at the man who seemed so foreign to her. There was so much more definition behind the blue, long sleeved shirt that he was wearing than there was seven years ago. He stood taller, with his head held high. His eyes seemed more focused and confident. But his hair was still the curly, dark mess that she remember.

Why was the only thing that she could recognize about him was his damn hair? There were so many more things that she should have seen that made her remember the Clark she had grown up with. But all she could see were the huge differences.

"Clark," she said quietly, looking up into his blue eyes, which held concern and the slightest amusement.

It was like something snapped inside her, making her realize how idiotic she must have looked at the moment. She pushed herself up from the ground as quickly as possible, not caring that her vision went lopsided as the world spun around her for a moment. Because she knew that he was right in front of her, and even though she was as tired as hell, it wasn't a dream. So as her vision went crazy, she stepped forward into his arms.

It was unexpected, definitely, but Sam didn't really care. All that mattered was that her best friend was home. The best friend that left years ago. The best friend that she only spoke with through letters and phone calls. The best friend that she missed so much. But now he was here. _Finally._

So screw the awkwardness. She just needed to physically touch him so that her world could go back to turning the way it was supposed to. And by the way he had his arms around her, she could tell that he felt the same way.

She remembered this Clark, it was the one who stole some of her heart. And it felt like he was taking some more.

* * *

_Eek! Okay, so next chapter they'll be talking. And probably three more years will pass. Then on to the movie plot! Please leave a review!_

_GD_


	5. Resurrection

_So...I'm back? Yeah, sorry about that. I had to leave the state for awhile. But yes, I'm back. Sorry for the shortness of the chapter. I didn't get to go into the next three years, that'll come next chapter. As for now...enjoy!_

* * *

Sitting at her small kitchen table, Sam stared blankly at the glass of lemonade in front of her. As Clark pulled the chair out across from her, she shook her head slowly.

"So...what happened – I mean, where did you..." she spoke slowly, hesitating with each word, "go?"

The giant man in front of her did not seemed phased, though. He smiled his crooked smile that she missed _so _much as he folded his hands on the table in front of him. "As far as where I went, the only way I can explain it is everywhere. I went where the information told me to go."

"What information?" she asked quickly, not stopping to think.

Pursing his lips, Clark eventually told her, "Not exactly information, just...clues about where I came from."

This time Sam didn't speak. Both knew that the question would come up sooner or later. He'd been gone seven years, and not once did he fully explain the reason behind his leaving to her. _"I need to find out where I come from," " __People can't hurt me, I can lift anything you give me, I can see things others don't, I hear things others can't." _His last parting words to her echoed through her mind.

Looking at him, it was obvious he wasn't some green, slimy, extraterrestrial. He was a human, _not to mention a very attractive one, _that ate food, breathed, sweat, blinked, drank, cried, thought and did whatever else humans did. So he was really, really strong, so he had excellent hearing and eyesight, what did that mean? Some people are special. And special he was.

Exhaustion weighed down on her as she took a sip of her lemonade. Looking up at him with heavy eyes, she asked, "And where do you come from, Clark?"

He took a deep breath and looked up at her. Wanting to look away from the intensity of his stare, she held his gaze, not quite sure how to turn away. "I don't know," he answered quietly, "And before you start accusing me of something I'll tell you now that I'm saying the truth. I've looked and asked and studied and looked some more, but I still don't know."

So they were back to square one...great.

Sensing that the option to ask further about his past wasn't an option anymore, she went on a different route. "What brings you back here, then?"

"Am I not allowed to come back?" he asked with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Well..." she blushed and looked down, "not necessarily. It's just...why now?"

"No reason in general. I just felt like it was time to come back," he told her.

"And how long will you be staying?" Sam asked, quieter than the last.

Clark shrugged. "I'm not sure. As long as it takes. I know my mom needs a little help with the place." Sam nodded, acknowledging his answer. "And how's your mom doing?"

The tiredness washed over again. She was _supposed _to be sleeping right now so that she wouldn't be completely dead when she visited her mother, but now that Clark was here, getting some much needed rest was no longer an option.

"She's," Sam struggled to find a word, "fine, I guess."

Clark cocked an eyebrow. "Why do I feel that she isn't?"

She sighed and put her cheek in her palm. "Because you're right." Breathing again, she said, " It just feels that nothing anyone does helps her. It's like I just have to sit there while they play doctor with her."

He stayed quiet and kept his eyes downcast. "I'm sorry."

She almost laughed at him, but bit her tongue. "It's not your fault, you're not the one who put her in that bed."

"Still," he lifted his head to look around her small kitchen. "How have things been? For you, I mean."

"You know," she shrugged, "same old, same old. I'm still at Mike's. Still have no plans. I guess I've come to the conclusion that I'll stay here until my mom passes."

Inwardly, she knew he'd cringe at the mention of a parent's death. After the funeral of his father, he'd never been open to talking about it. But then again, he'd been gone for seven years, maybe he'd changed in that aspect.

For herself, though, she'd accepted the fact that her mother would either die in the hospital bed, or in her bed. In the time that she'd been diagnosed, relatively nothing had changed, in her mind, at least. The doctors told her the progress of the chemo, the levels of whatever, the changes in the others things, but the terms went over her head. All she could tell was that her mother was not getting better. It terrified her that she could lose her mother at any moment, but after years of thinking that, it became normal. It was just a fact of her life she had to face and deal with.

Clark changed the subject, and she wasn't sure if it was for the sake of himself or her. "No trouble from your dad?"

She snorted. "None. I haven't heard from him since he left, and frankly I'm perfectly content with that."

Clark nodded in acknowledgment. Being one of the few, if only, person to know about the issues with her father, Clark handled himself very well when the topic came up. He could have very easily lost his temper, but instead he stayed silent. And after knowing Clark for years, she wasn't quite sure which behavior was better.

They didn't speak to each other for what seemed like hours. The few minutes of silence passed by with sips of lemonade, downcast eyes, hesitant breaths, and nervous foot taps, all by herself. Clark was still, the only movement coming from his steady breathing and movement of his fingers.

He slightly startled her when he moved his head to the front door, staring at it before speaking. "I should leave."

Sam licked her lips, which suddenly felt extremely dry. She knew that this moment would be coming, Clark couldn't stay here forever. He had bigger and better things to do. _Much_ bigger things, she reminded herself after remembering the reason he left in the first place. And just like what was happening now, he'd come back when he felt like it. He was a grown man, he could take care of himself.

It still didn't help the tingling of fear that settling in the pit of her stomach. He'd be going back out into the world, by himself, all alone, looking for unimaginable things that she couldn't even begin to think exist. But, if she really thought about it, wasn't he always alone? Sure, he had his parents and her, but he was still different, always an outcast.

Swallowing, she quietly asked, "Will I see you again?"

Clark looked back at her. With a truth in his eyes, he answered, "I'm not sure."

She fumbled for a second, but after setting down her lemonade she pushed back her chair with a new-found confidence that she didn't know existed when she was this tired. "Let me walk you out, then," she told him, voice stable.

Sam walked in front of him, even though she didn't block a thing from his eyes. It was only now, being so close to him, that she felt his strength looming above her. She was absolutely defenseless against him. She was barely tall enough to reach the glasses on the top shelf at Mike's, how in the world could she stand a chance against the giant behind her? She hoped she never had to find out.

Careful to not trip on the deck stairs again, she turned around to face him when she reached the dirt path. He looked down at her, and she guessed he was thinking the same thing she was. _What do I say? What do I do? _Well, they couldn't stand there forever.

She managed to give him a small smile. "Stay safe, please?"

Laughing lightly, he said, "I always do."

Next, he did something that would still boggle her brain for months and years to come. Reaching down, he not only hugged her, but lifted her up so that he was standing at his full height. Eyes wide, she hesitantly wrapped her arms around his neck, knowing that he wouldn't drop her, but still terrified at the height she was at.

Maybe she was dreaming, maybe she was passed out on her couch. This was not how she imagined her first physical interaction with Clark would go. She should have been mad at him, should have punched him for leaving her and forcing her to basically forget about her best friend. She definitely should _not _be realizing how much she missed him and, even though she was only in them a handful of times, how much she missed being in his arms.

But as she began to welcome his embrace, he lightly set her down. Stepping forward a few steps, he turned to her and said, "I'll be back, I promise."

And just like that, he walked down the dirt driveway, onto the main road, and out of her life, again. She stood there for a few moments, letting the feeling of being by herself sink in again. Later today, she'd kick herself for not doing something or saying something. But right now, she _really _needed to sleep. Because in her dreams, Clark came back, stayed in Smallville, and _always _knocked on her door. Too bad she never failed to wake up before she could answer it.

* * *

_Leave a review and let me known what you think! I'm **always **open for suggestions!_


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